


Flock Together

by somnivagrantTraviatus



Category: Owlboy (Video Game)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Gen, Otus lives, Post-Canon, give this poor child hugs, let Alphonse be a dad, touchstarved Otus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:21:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21702145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somnivagrantTraviatus/pseuds/somnivagrantTraviatus
Summary: Four times Otus was preened, and one time he preened someone else.
Relationships: Alphonse & Otus (Owlboy), Asio & Otus (Owlboy), Geddy & Otus (Owlboy), Otus & Solus (Owlboy), Otus & Twig (Owlboy)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 50





	Flock Together

His eyes bore into you. Stern and cold as ever, always searching for some fault, but you tried this time, you really did! You made your bed, you remembered to turn off the stove, you’re here on time – even if you had to run. Maybe– no! Today will be a good day! There’s nothing left for Asio to yell at you about, you’re positive!

But he’s still staring. _Smile, smile. You are an owl._

“Otus,” he says. Yes? Did you finally get it right? “You are a mess.”

The smile shakes off your face. 

“Did you neglect your hygiene, hoping to get out of work for today?” He scoffs, mistaking your slump for agreement. “Lazy oaf. Well, I certainly can’t hold class with you looking like _that._ Leave my sight and come back looking like a proper owl.”

He’s letting you come back? You straighten, giving him the best grin you can muster. Yes, sir! You’ll do your best!

“Don’t think I’m letting your ploy go unpunished,” Asio warns, crossing his arms. “You’ll be doing an extra hour of training to make up for your tardiness today.”

You nod, wilting. He turns his back. “Dismissed.”

There's nothing you can do but walk away. If you hurry, maybe you can get back before Asio decides to give you more work.

Oh, but there's Geddy! He's sitting at his post when you approach. You whistle at him. _Tweeoo!_

“Ah!” Geddy jumps. “Otus? I thought you had class!”

Well, sort of. You pull a face.

“Asio being a jerk to you again? I oughta…”

No, it's okay! You've just gotta stop screwing up, is all.

Geddy sighs, but lets it go. “What was it this time? Did you start with your left foot instead of your right or something?”

That was yesterday.

After some thought, you tug on a feather and spread your arms, twirling so Geddy can see your cloak. Now that Asio’s pointed it out, you’re self-conscious. The messy, crumpled feathers make you feel grimy, disheveled, and a little sore.

Geddy winces. “Not distinguished enough for Mr. High and Mighty, huh? At least that's an easy fix. C’mere, I can straighten those feathers out for you.”

It's awkward to maneuver in his small watchpost, but you work out a position: Geddy sitting on his stool; you half-crouched between it and the bars.

Nothing happens for a second or so. Then a hand comes down and pets your hair. _It’s warm._ Geddy’s touch is methodical and stiff, like you're one of his machines, but the motions are repetitive, rhythmic, and certain. It feels good, you realize with a happy shiver.

His fingers still. “Should I stop?”

No! You press your head into his fingers and tilt until he goes back to combing them along your scalp, trailing peace and order in his wake.

Your eyes fall closed as he moves to your cloak, the sensation dimmer but still relaxing. It feels like they only stay that way a second before his fingers lift away, leaving you leaning after the warmth.

You almost fall over. Geddy laughs and helps you to your feet. “Sure you got enough sleep last night? It looked like you were about ready to nap sitting up!”

Once you’ve got your legs under you, you feel a lot better, even giving Geddy a spin to show him as much. You’re awake, promise!

He grins back. “Looks like you’re feeling better now, at least. You should get going, though, before Asio starts looking for you.”

Oof, yeah. Wincing, you give him a thumbs-up, then a quick hug.

He returns the squeeze and steps back. “You’re welcome. Now, go!”

Alright, alright. You roll your eyes, but give him a smiling salute. Then you’re off, winging your way back to Asio. 

The air passes smoothly under your wings, warmed by the sunlight, and invites you to play. You give into temptation. A quick flip for joy, and you come up grinning – the morning wasn’t great, but you have a good friend to help you when you need it.

\---

Sunset paints Tropos a gorgeous hue. The grass is golden in the dying light, and even the logs you're sitting on gleam luminous under orange rays. Hopefully the wood Geddy brings back will shine just as brightly – the sun won't last forever, and you don't know anything about building a fire.

In the meantime, you're here in a strange land, alone with an ex-pirate who tried to kill you only a few hours ago.

You don't regret your decision to join up with Alphonse. He seems genuinely remorseful for his actions – he's apologized twice now for attacking you at the airship, and that's more than you've ever gotten from Asio. He doesn't have anywhere else to go, his help was really useful in the temple, and that musket could come in handy. Still, you're not exactly comfortable around him yet, and with your inability to talk, you can't break the awkward silence.

Alphonse does it for you with a small cough. “Master Otus? Forgive my impertinence, but I cannot help but notice your disheveled state. I'm sure you'd rather someone you're more comfortable with preen you, but I do have some experience in the matter, and if you wished it, I would be happy to assist.”

You give him a slow blink and tilt your head. What?

“You… don't know what preening is?”

He looks sad when you shake your head. “I see. Well, if you permit me, I could demonstrate. I promise it will not hurt.”

Alright. You nod and, not without some trepidation, shift to the log closest to where he's standing. What do you have to do?

Nothing, it seems. Cool fingers trail along your cloak, broad and sure, deftly nudging feathers into place all down its length. It isn't quite sensation, but the ghost of aches resolved loosens the tight line of your shoulders and relaxes your spine.

“Preening is an important part of every owl’s hygiene,” Alphonse explains. His voice is hushed, but clear; measured, like he's performing familiar dialogue. “If neglected, an owl’s dignity, control, and most importantly, flight are all threatened.”

He's moved to your head now. The fingers falter here, but resume their rhythm, combing slow and deep. “Preening,” he continues, “realigns feathers which have been knocked out of place. When primaries, secondaries, and coverlets are all properly aligned, an owl can efficiently sculpt the air under their wings. If any of these are out of place, it becomes difficult to control one’s flight.” He chuckles. “Or so I've been told.”

Is that what Asio meant? Resentment curls like smoke in your chest, but dissipates quickly. You're too relaxed to dwell on it, lost in the contentment Alphonse’s fingers trail across your scalp.

“Preening was considered a social activity, in the early days of the Owl Empire, but it was quickly relegated to the private sphere, to be done only with trusted friends or by a designated automaton. To preen or be preened in public was to suggest an inability to care for oneself, a failure to live up to owl standards of perfection and self-control.”

The scenes play out for you, half-dreamed: an open courtyard, lord and lady owls swirling through by land and sky. A lady sat before a mirror, chattering away as some metal creature arranges her cloak behind her. Two owls collapsed into each other behind closed doors, finally able to touch each other’s wings. A teacher, with a student taken aside, brushing back errant feathers before they rejoin the class.

That last hurts, somehow. You sink back, taking comfort from Alphonse’s solid bulk.

His voice is quieter, now. Less practiced. With your head against his stomach like this, it rumbles gently in your ears. “Only children were the exception to this rule. To nurture the virtues of curiosity and exploration, children were encouraged to chase their whims. It was an adult’s task to make them presentable afterwards, no matter when, where, or how often.” He sighs. “It was always such a lovely sight to see… the children, caught, held, and preened so tenderly after the latest escapade.”

Something in his voice sounds sad. You hoot questioningly at him, and his hand stills.

“Ah, don't mind me. Just lost in old memories.” He strokes your head. “It has been a long day, and I'm sure you are exhausted, Master Otus. If you would like to get some rest, it would be no trouble for me to keep watch for Master Geddy.”

Mmm, you are pretty comfy. Would that really be okay?

“Get some sleep, Master Otus,” he repeats. Okay, fine. You settle back against him, closing your eyes.

He hums, as you drift off: some old, familiar lullaby.

\---

You don't like Twig’s family.

They've been nice enough to you. It's not like they _had_ to offer you a bed for the night, even if just thinking about sleeping out in Mesos’s snow makes you shiver. (Alphonse reassured you he'd be okay outside. You guess the cold doesn't bother robots as much.) But the way they treat Twig reminds you too much of your nightmares, the ones where all of Vellie lines up to shout at you. A family shouldn't call you names or say you're useless.

(And what does that mean for you and Asio?)

It's these thoughts that have driven you out of bed, after much tossing and turning. You figure you'll make your way to the living room and watch the snow drift down until you're tired enough to sleep, but those plans are quickly dashed: Twig is pacing the floor, four arms wringing, in a mesmerizing display of tension.

You're frozen, only able to watch him pace and mutter. Snippets catch your ears: “Dumb,” “just gonna take advantage,” “don't wanna stay,” “already ruined it.” Then he jerks to a stop, crossing one pair of arms and resting the other on his hips. (You don't care what his family says; building an extra, movable set of arms is _very_ impressive.) “You know what? I don't care about any of that. Otus said he wanted me to join them, and I'm gonna trust my friend!”

Your heart warms. Almost unconsciously, you take a step – and the floor creaks underfoot, sending Twig spinning to face you.

He blanches. “O-otus? H-how long have you been here, huh?”

There's no real way for you to answer that, so you just shrug sheepishly. He sighs, burying his head in his hands. “Ugh, I'm so stupid… Just pretend you didn't see any of that, okay?”

Well, it's not like you can ask him about it. Still, this doesn't seem like the sort of thing you can just paper over and pretend you didn't see. Geddy might have been a good friend, but he was also your only friend, until this whole adventure started. If he had treated you the way the pirates treated Twig… well, you get why Twig is having a hard time trusting you. But how do you communicate that?

You lay a hand against Twig’s side. (It's as high as you can reach.)

He blinks. A hand drops to cover your head. Now you're both standing in the middle of the living room with your hands on each other. Okay.

Twig’s hand feels good, though. Maybe if you just… tilted your head a little…

It slides to a stop just above your ear, warming the cold spot there. _Mmm._

Twig laughs. “Man, your hair feels weird.” He pokes at a cowlick. “Looks weird, too. Is it supposed to be this… everywhere?”

No, it's usually a _little_ neater than this. 

Actually, hey, maybe this could work! You grab one of his hands and use it to flatten the cowlick.

“You want me to… fix your hair?”

You beam affirmatively.

“It'd probably be easier without my gloves,” he mutters, fidgeting with the cuffs. “They're not great with fine motor control… Do you want me to take them off?”

You find a box to sit on and pointedly turn your back. That's none of your business.

“Oh. Okay. I’ll just, uh…”

There are some scuffing noises: feet on floor, box on floor, fabric on box. “Okay,” Twig says. “I’m, uh, I’m gonna start now, okay?”

Claws close gently around a lock of hair. It lifts, moves, and is set down in a more comfortable location.

“Huh. Maybe if I…”

A claw finds your scalp, drags lightly across it. A shiver zips under your skin as the strands part to either side.

“Let me know if I hurt you, okay? I’m sorry, I’m not very good at this.”

You snort, shaking your head – mindful of the claws tangled in your hair. You’re not worried.

“I guess I’d have to be really good to be good at this immediately, huh?” He laughs, sorting another lock. “It’s not like I’ve done this before. Or, uh, had anyone to do this with. Dirk… didn’t like being touched.”

Yeah, sounds about right.

“He was always saying that. ‘Don’t touch me.’ ‘Go away.’ ‘Can’t you do anything right?’ Made a guy feel pretty unappreciated.” He pauses. “I probably should’ve realized we weren’t friends way sooner, huh? Guess I was just too dumb to see it.”

You whistle sympathetically. There isn’t much else you can do.

The claws resume brushing through your hair. “Or, I guess… it wasn’t that I didn’t see it. I just really hoped it wasn't true, y’know? Dirk… he saw me as a spider, not just some dumb stickbug. He wanted me around! Even if it was just so I could do stuff for him, at least he thought I could do that stuff. Not like my pa and bro.”

His claws flex, shearing a little hair off the end of the current lock. “That’s what gets me,” he continues. “He didn’t say anything I hadn’t heard before! All those times he called me useless and said I got in the way… that’s stuff my family tells me all the time. They keep saying I’d be lucky to find someone who could tolerate me, but then when I do, they say I’m too stupid to see they’re taking advantage of me, or that I’m hanging with a bad crowd. What am I supposed to do, be alone forever?!”

The shavings slide off your shoulders and to the floor, and Twig stops, swallowing audibly. “Sorry, I didn't mean to give you a haircut. I just… it makes me so angry, y'know?”

Nod nod. Yeah, you know.

“But… you're not like that. Right? You actually want to be my friend. Not cause you wanna make fun of me or just want me to do stuff for you, but cause you. Uh. Like me?”

You nod again, emphatic this time. It's true you don't know Twig well yet, but you do know he's a kind, intelligent person with a courage you admire. You only wish you could tell him so.

Something snakes around your stomach – two somethings, actually – and you're about to panic when you're crushed against Twig’s chest. It's a hug, you realize, from all four of his arms. And he's shaking, face buried in the hair he just neatened.

“I'm so happy we're friends,” he sobs. “I'm glad I met you, Otus.”

You reach back and pat him as best you can. You're happy you're friends, too.

\---

“Asio?” Mandolyn yawns, rubbing her eyes. “He’s still on the overlook, I think. He won’t see any of us, but… maybe he’ll talk to you?”

Would he?

All Asio has ever done is talk _at_ you. Go here, do that, be better. And you tried, you really did! But no matter what you did, it wasn’t good enough for him. If Twig is allowed to be upset with his family, you can be upset with yours, too, right? Maybe you should leave him to mope, and find some other way above Mesos.

Even as you think that, you know you can’t. This is bigger than your hurt feelings. If you can’t find the Relics, everything will crumble and fall into the sky, and Asio’s the only person you can think of who might know how to get there. You have to get him to talk!

...and, more than that, even Asio deserves someone to listen to his feelings. If you can help him with whatever is bothering him, you want to.

Your feet drag as you approach the overlook. Asio makes an imposing silhouette against the starry backdrop of the night, and any confidence you may have had is wiped away when he whirls to meet you.

He takes a step back. You stop, confused. What’s that look?

“Otus? Why have you come back?” 

You had to. You had to know.

“You should leave,” he snarls. “Now!”

The force of his anger makes you cringe back. But behind it, you see glimmers of something else. Sorrow? Worry? Swallowing, you press on.

The anger drains from him, pressed out by the weight across his shoulders. “Otus… please,” he begs. “This place is no longer safe.” 

It hasn’t been for a while. But for Asio, protector of Vellie, to admit it… he must feel terrible.

“I couldn’t keep the village from harm,” he says, as if in agreement. “Not me, nor Strix, nor any other owl.” Even his eyes slump, now. He avoids your gaze, watching the clouds drift by. “We are… frail. Arrogant. Short-sighted. If you hadn’t left the school... Otus…”

You remember: bombs, smoke, pirates. Mandolyn, smiling through teary eyes. “We have a graveyard now.” How many more casualties would there have been if you hadn’t driven away the pirate fleet?

Asio bows his head. “We have been spared from my own foolish actions this time. Fly away as far as you can, Otus. Hide yourself from others, and never return.”

You don’t understand. 

He turns to face you. “Heed my final lesson now,” he says, eyes glittering in the dying light, “so that you may live a little longer.”

 _Oh,_ you realize. _He meant **me.**_

The grass rustles. The islands are crumbling, dirt and rocks borne higher and higher on invisible wings. You take a step, and Asio doesn’t move.

You take another, and another, until your feet land on stone. 

Asio trembles. He gets to – falls to – his knees.

He embraces you. “I am so sorry,” he chokes out. “For everything.”

The wind rushes by. Slowly, you put your arms around him.

Flecks of dirt dance on the breeze. He lets you go, saying something about courage, but you’re anxious to get moving.

“You’re… leaving again now?” He swallows, but his eyes are clear. “I’ll wait for you here,” he says. “If there’s anything I can help you with... then let me know.”

The Mesosphere. Please, Asio.

He puts a hand to his chin, thinking. For a moment, hope rises in you.

“I’m not sure.”

No. It can’t be; there has to be a way!

“Maybe ask the professor?”

You meet his gaze, eyes wide. Asio – “I know everything” Asio – recommending you talk to someone else? About the sky?

His mouth quirks. “I don’t like to admit it,” he agrees. “But he would probably know better than me.”

You turn to go, but he calls your name before you can spread your wings. Reluctantly, you turn around. What is it now? You’re in a hurry!

He brushes your hair back with one broad hand. The other picks out a leaf and tosses it away. He inspects his handiwork, then tucks a curl behind your ear and steps back with a sharp nod. “Be careful out there, Otus.”

You nod back. _As long as you’re careful here._

\---

It still doesn't seem real. The ocean, the islands, falling… if not for the crash of waves, you could almost think it was a dream.

Maybe that's why you keep finding Solus staring at the sea.

In so many ways, the two of you are similar. Responsibility weighs on you like a cloak. You're legacies, descendants of the owls who broke the world, inheritors of the blame. You died for it. Solus killed.

With the Anti-Hex cast, their hold on you is gone. You don't need to be Noctae’s backup plan anymore. Solus doesn't have to be Aegolius’s last hope. But if you aren't needed, you're not a fated hero destined to save the world. You're just a dumb screw-up who can't even talk with the people in it.

If that's how you feel, Solus must have it worse: he'd been planning for this, choosing his path, months in advance – if not years. You just stumbled blindly in. He flew into Advent, and left it a ruin, with his eyes wide open. And for what?

Dust, death, and the horizon. How many is his gaze fixed on?

He turns it on you, as you approach, and you see yourself reflected for a moment before he blinks in false cheer. “O-otus! I’m sorry, were you l-looking for me? I was just, um, enjoying the scenery.”

His feathers are a mess, and his eyes are so tired. Doesn't he know he can trust you? Haven't you proven it yet?

You had a dream, when you fell, and Solus called you friend. He trusts you. And there is something you can do.

You reach out and nudge a feather back.

“O-otus?”

This one’s loose. You gently tug it free and smooth its neighbors over.

“Are you _preening_ me?”

You sure are. You give him a cheerful whistle, aligning more feathers.

“You don't– I mean, this isn't n-necessary. I can t-take care of myself!”

Did you go too far? You stop, crushed under a wave of shame and disappointment. You're sorry. You didn't mean to mess up again.

Solus wiggles. “I didn't mean it like that! Just, you know, you d-don’t have to feel obligated to t-take care of the klutz or anything.” He laughs awkwardly. “But, um, if you really want to, I g-guess that’s fine?”

If it's really okay… You reach out again, but – _Can't you do anything right? You've gone and made everything worse!_ – can't bring yourself to start.

A hand closes around yours. You look up, out of the past, and into warm yellow eyes. “I-it’s okay,” Solus says. “I could show you how?”

You blink at him, lost for (lack of) words.

“N-not to assume you don't know already!” he hastily adds. “I just– I know you didn't have much, um, c-contact with other owls, so. If you, um, w-wanted to learn, I could…”

You squish him against you in a grateful hug.

“I guess that's a yes?” He laughs, clear and bright, and you forget to let him go. A wriggle and a beat of his snowy wings take him out of your slack arms to settle on the sand. “So… it works b-better if you make a, um, this sort of shape with your hands? Like this. That way it's easier to get to the scalp...”

You sit down next to him, following along. He's a good teacher, you realize. He stops often to make sure you understand, and clarifies when you don't, saying things in different ways until they make sense to you instead of just saying you're not trying hard enough. You're finally learning how to be an owl!

And Solus has a lot to teach. He was the one who put the Anti-Hex together, and who discovered it to begin with in the ancient records. He figured out how to find and use it all by himself.

If he had help – if he could trust people to listen to him – could he teach everyone what the owls knew? Not the bad things, like turning animals into robot slaves, but how to tell what the weather will be like, or maybe even how to make and use owl cloaks. That would give him something important to do, right?

And if Solus can still help, after Advent and everything else, maybe you can, too.

You'll do it together, you decide. You and Solus, and Geddy, and Alphonse, and Twig, and maybe even Asio.

Maybe everyone.

Like feathers. If you're aligned the right way, if you're all working together, you can fly.

Sunrise twinkles on the waves, swept on by early-morning breeze. You brush the last of the night out of Solus’s wings, and think about tomorrow.


End file.
